Warm Whispers
by TurnTheRadioOff
Summary: The trio return to Shell Cottage, but Hermione finds many things hard to forget. Someone, however, is more than willing to help her.
1. Chapter 1

Warm Whispers

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it, there would have been a few more lesbians in the series.

This is quite obviously femmeslash. If you don't like it, just hit the back button, close the window and scream, call your mother and tell her you're scared, whatever tickles your fancy, but please don't flame it.

The plot is somewhat DH-compliant, deviating after the Trio's stay at Shell Cottage. I'm borrowing the name of the fic ever so graciously from a Missy Higgins song of the same name. It's a pretty good tune.

Enjoy, everyone! Don't forget to review. ;)

* * *

The sheets were ironed, and white. They laid neatly on top of the small bed. The dust boats sailed slowly through the rays of sunlight softly coming through the white curtains drawn across the window. The walls, a pale cream, invited the visitor to come closer, they soothed and comforted.

But Hermione's feet were rooted to the door jamb, refusing to tip-toe across the plush carpet. It was so bright, so crisp. There wasn't a speck of dirt to be found. It was all she could do not to scream.

She felt so _dirty._ Her fingernails were still brown from the dirt of the dungeon floor, the dirt she had so desperately dug at to free herself from Bellatrix. Her left wrist still hadn't healed fully, and was sore to the touch. She ran one of her soiled digits down the split in her lip; Voldemort's right-hand woman found it necessary to backhand Hermione across the mouth whenever she spoke "out of turn." She shuddered at the thought and attempted to run her fingers through her hair, a nervous habit. Her fingers snagged on a knot and she cried out in pain.

It was too much for her. She collapsed in the entryway, her body wracked with sobs. She couldn't go into that clean room and taint it with her filth. As she sat there, she felt a hand gently pull her back to her feet. Hermione was too ashamed to look whoever it was in the eye, and instead mumbled something between a grunt of appreciation and an apology. The unidentified hand placed its thumb under her chin, slowly drawing her face upward.

"Now this won't do at all, mademoiselle," Fleur Delacour reprimanded her softly. She took the brunette gently by the wrist and guided her away from the guest room, walking through the dimly lit hall past a Delacour portrait that had been painted five generations ago. The matriarch in the painting smiled sadly at Hermione as she passed by, and the young girl was shocked by the compassion displayed by the bewitched oil on canvas.

Fleur halted her steps outside of the bathroom and slowly turned the knob. As the younger girl realized what the French witch was about to do, she tried to scrap together what little pride she had left.

"I can wash myself just fine, thank you very much," Hermione snuffed Fleur and walked deftly past her.

"Just because you can do something alone doesn't mean you should 'ave to," Fleur called from the entrance of the bathroom, leaning against the threshold.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion!" Hermione spat, immediately regretting her words. But Fleur had disappeared, and Hermione was left to wash herself with her sprained wrist. She reprimanded herself internally time and again while cleansing herself. _No one else was willing to help you, Hermione. Are you ever going to stop this?_

She turned the water off and stepped into the heavy, damp air. The humidity brought back a wave of memories Hermione had been repressing since her arrival. She breathed in slowly, trying to regulate her heartbeat and her thoughts, but her mind immediately jumped back to the dungeon, back to that place… she bolted down the hallway and flung the door open to the bedroom, burrowing between the crisp sheets and under the down pillows, trying to drown it all out, to make it go away.

Hermione didn't realize that she was crying until she heard a soothing shushing noise coming from above her. A hand smoothed her hair down, drawing her into their lap. She slowly opened her eyes to see the French woman biting her lip, holding back tears of her own.

"I'm so sorry Fleur," Hermione sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry." She clung to the hem of the older woman's shirt, her tears welled and flowed the way ice thaws in the spring. They clung to her eyelashes and rolled down her face quickly; Fleur wiped them away with the pad of her thumb, drawing Hermione closer to her.

"Shhh," she whispered softly. "There's nothing to be sorry for."

* * *

Well, so ends Chapter 1. Reviews and constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated! (or you could just tell me that it was awesome, that'd be fine by me, too)


	2. Chapter 2

AN: WHAT?! AN UPDATE?! I know, I know. I can hardly believe it myself. But hey, why fill out class registrations for my semester abroad when I could be updating my fanfiction for the first time since........... I'm not even going to bother with some kind of somewhat humorous hyperbole. You get the idea.

Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the Harry Potter series because if I did, he would have been hit by a train after meeting Hermione in book one and the rest of the series would have graphically detailed her many escapades with the ladies.

* * *

_ "So you're just leaving, then?!" Bill shouted up the stairs. Fleur, too flustered to magic her things into a suitcase, slammed their door shut in reply. She cringed when she heard his stomping up the stairs. Her fiance stopped outside of the door, seeming to catch his breath. _

_ "What're you on about, honestly? We're to be married, my mum's been looking forward to this for more than twenty years! And you expect to just romp off and leave me to owl her, telling her to canc-- I cannot believe this!" _

_ "First of all, Bill, your maman's wishes are of no concern of mine, and as for ze cancellation, just inform 'er zat it is postponed. INDEFINITELY," she was bouncing atop one of her suitcases in a vain attempt to close it, only to hear one of her stilettos inside snap. "MERDE!" she hissed. _

_ "Oh, right then. Then it's just cold feet, right? That's okay, I mean, every-" _

_ "NON, Bill, it is not cold feet when your future 'usband still 'as letters from Gretchen in ze 'ex placement Department stuffed in 'is SOCK DRAWER. I believe zat ze English call zis a demonstration of self-worth," Fleur darted across the room and flung the door open to see Bill staring at her, wide-eyed. _

_ "G-gretchen?" he swallowed. "Fleur, she's just a friend, I swear, we broke up ages ago. I swear," half-wincing, he looked at the floor. "Is that what this is about?" _

_ "Bill, if you are still pining over zis girl after four years, I am doing you nuzzing but a favor. Go to 'er. Now if you will allow me to finish my packing in peace, s'il vous plait," the blonde had almost finished closing the door when Bill stopped it. _

_ "This isn't about me, is it," he said, resigned. _

_ "Oui, Bill, it is, and quite frankly, if--" _

_ "Fleur, I chucked those letters in the rubbish bin a week after you moved in. I forgot they even existed. Now are you going to pull another one of these excuses out of your hat, or are we going to talk about this?" He cautiously made his way to their bed, being careful to step over the blouses that were still on the floor. Fleur sighed heavily, leaning against the door jamb. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes as if to make it all go away, as if it were all a hallucination. _

_ "I feel nothing, Bill. Nothing. No spark, no fireworks, no 'eel popping emotions, and I don't think I ever 'ave. I've just been going--" _

_ "Through the motions?" Bill offered. He patted the space on the bed next to him, and Fleur obliged, slumping with her head in her hands. _

_ "Oui," came the muffled response. Bill sighed. _

_ "Okay. I understand," Bill resigned._

_ "Really?" _

_ "No," he chuckled nervously. "But maybe some time apart would be good, yeah? And then we'll go from there," he wrapped his arm around Fleur's waist and tried not to frown when her back stiffened. "Stay the night at least. It's wicked cold, and the only place letting rooms at this time of night is on Knockturn Alley. You can make arrangements in the morning." _

_ "Merci, Bill," Fleur said as she rose from the bed. _

_____________________________________________________________________________ Of course, the next day everyone from the Order received the summons to make their way to Hogwarts immediately, and it was then that Bill met Fenrir Greyback. And, instead of meeting with the family to tell them of the calling off of the nuptials, she was greeted by a weeping Molly Weasley spitting poisoned accusations in her face. And judging from everyone's expressions, they were all thinking what she was saying.

Prove it, they seemed to say. If you're not the shallow pretty face everyone says you are, prove it.

There was no one to blame but herself, of course. It was she who leapt at Molly Weasley's words in the infirmary almost two years ago, seeing them as some sort of challenge, not just from Mrs. Weasley, but everyone in the room.

And just to further prove herself to Molly Weasley, their wedding was at The Burrow.

It was weeks since she felt like moving, doing anything other than wiping down already clean countertops and sighing out the garden window, gazing over the sea. Bill left her to do whatever she liked, giving her the space that was promised-- as much space allowed in a sea cottage. When Harry and his Under-appreciated Entourage appeared, Fleur was inwardly grateful at the opportunity to do something, anything, especially for the Order.

And when she saw Hermione's state, she felt something inside her twist and knot. This enthusiastic, beautiful, intelligent girl had become a world-weary woman in the matter of a few short hours, all at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Fleur admired her resilience, her determination to remain self-sufficient, but that exactly what the younger girl did not need. Fleur found herself needing to look after her, checking up on her as she slept and talking her through the numerous nightmares from which Hermione awoke. The younger girl quickly built up a resistance to Dreamless Sleep Draught, and it was for that reason that Fleur was spending her nights in the guest bedroom and not her own.

* * *

Fleur had decided she would make herself comfortable whilst attending Hermione and took up the opposite side of the bed, comforter across her lap and potions book in hand. She was determined to create a Dreamless Sleep Draught strong enough for Hermione, who was once again whimpering in her sleep in an obvious state of distress. Fleur reached over, tentatively at first, and began to rub Hermione's back in an attempt to soothe her. The younger girl relaxed immediately and Fleur returned to her reading.

Just as Fleur found what seemed to be a breakthrough with the implementation of hellibore and an almost immeasurable amount of asphoedel, Hermione turned over in her sleep and flung her arm across Fleur's midriff. The french witch felt the familiar knot in her stomach once again, and absentmindedly smoothed the scar along Hermione's jaw line with the back of her hand. Hermione's brows knit together in her sleep.

"No... Bellatrix..." she mumbled, slowly getting louder. "NO, BELLATRIX, JUST LEAVE ME BE! PLEASE!" Fleur took Hermione's shoulder and shook it, attempting to snap her out of her nightmare. The brunette's eyes shot open, tears immediately springing to her eyes.

"Oh Fleur," she whispered, still rocked with fear. "I'm so glad you're here." She nestled into the lithe older woman's body and sighed. "I just wish this all would end."

"Moi aussi, 'ermione," Fleur took the younger girl's hand in hers and squeezed it softly. Hermione trusted her now, at the very least, and that was a start.

* * *

I'm not finished with this one, I promise. Also, there's another three days before I actually leave, so with that much time to procrastinate, who knows what will happen. =]


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I'll be surprised if anyone is expecting an update for this story- or any of my stories for that matter, considering my completely dreadful track record for updating. It just so happens I'm in a fanfic frenzy between Glee and the Hunger Games. I felt this deserved some attention, too. Please be kind as I try to remember where I was going with this in the first place.

Hermione awoke once more from a bout of fitful rest, feeling just as exhausted as she had before falling asleep. In her half-awake state she sensed a centre of warmth and curled closer to it, her bruised hands grasping at the sheets and-

She shouted in surprise at the presence of another in her room, her mind automatically jumping to the worst conclusions before her bleary eyes cleared to see Fleur before her. She sighed in relief and collapsed into the older woman's lap, chuckling to herself a bit.

"This paranoia of mine is getting a bit ridiculous," Hermione's lip curved into a half smile as Fleur stroked her back reassuringly.

"Shall I go and make the tea?" Fleur asked. Hermione nodded and rose slowly, wincing at her still-bruised rib. "I'll come along, I should be getting up and about at this time."

This was the routine the pair had fallen into for the past week, Fleur researching a better Dreamless Sleep Draught as Hermione, between periods of fitful rest and tending to her wounds, continued to do research of her own on the locations of the Horcruxes.

The young woman's thoughts were pierced by the whistling of the kettle as the older of the two warmed up the cakes. She took two chipped mugs out of the cabinet and slid them onto the table, settling herself in a chair facing her French counterpart's back.

"Fleur, d'you think this will all have an end? Not just the war, I mean. All of the fear and dreadful things that come along with it," she took the mug in her hands and stared into it, inspecting a bit of tea leaf that refused to be scrubbed off despite the best housekeeping spells.

"_Non, _I do not, 'ermione," she filled Hermione's cup before her own and slid into her chair, looking her in the eye gravely. She took a sip of her tea before continuing. "There are many things, I think, that will last far past this war. Some bad, some good, and many that we will wish nothing more than to forget," she took Hermione's hand in her own. "But I think that you will be okay, if that is what you are asking."

"I'm glad you think so, Fleur, but I'm not so sure," absentmindedly running her thumb over her friend's knuckles. "It's been a week and I still can't stop thinking about the things I saw there, but when I open my mouth to speak of it, it's like it stops right at my mouth and dies there. But it's all I can see when I close my eyes, all I hear when I sleep, and I'm already sick of it! I can't focus on this research that Harry and Ron need-" the blonde shushed her curly haired friend.

"I 'ave some good news, 'ermione. With this you might be able to join your friends," she slipped her hand out the younger witch's, pretending not to notice the fleeting look of disappointment or the fluttering in her stomach that came along with it. She left the kitchen, muttering curses to herself as she sifted through a pile of papers on the coffee table, and Hermione noted to herself that the blonde woman looked positively ethereal in the early afternoon sun that filtered through the sheer curtains. She dismissed this thought as the thought one would typically have a caretaker saving your last bit of sanity.

"_Je l'ai trouvé!_" the French woman cried triumphantly. She flitted back over to the table, eagerly smoothing the paper out over the cracked table."I 'ave the potion simmering in the garden shed, but I wanted to show you the actual steps... it should be finished before nightfall." With the mention of night, Hermione was unable to stifle a yawn which did not go unnoticed by her French companion.

" 'ermione, why don't you go to the guest room and try to rest for a bit while I try to figure the rest of this potion out?" the younger witch shook her head fervently in disagreement and stood quickly, eyeing the door to the outside world, a place she had not seen since her arrival.

"No. I'm going to come with you and help," her lip curled into a small half smile and she cheekily added: "I need to make sure you don't botch the whole concoction, after all."

"Well, I'm glad to see your spirits have risen enough to resume your teasing," Fleur retorted. She tugged on the younger girl's hand and led her to the shed, unlocking the door with a series of spells Hermione seemed to be impressed with, which in turn resulted in Fleur feeling a bit smug. Inside were a dozen cauldrons filled with different steps in the process.

"It will probably need another two or three days to complete the brewing, 'owever, the batch will be enough for a month's worth of doses. You should take care to only use it when you need it desperately, 'ermione, I 'ave been doing some reading and it seems that one can quickly develop a dependency on it-" Hermione stopped her friend's rant.

"Fleur, how long have you been working on this? The older witch shrugged noncommittally.

"Oh, I'm not sure, exactly, I started the research when you arrived 'ere. I'd 'eard of the potion before, potions was my best subject at Beauxbatons, you see, and I wanted to do whatever I could to help-" Once again, Fleur was cut off, but this time by the soft brush of Hermione's lips against her, hesitant and quick and breath-taking.

"I-I'm sorry," the younger girl stammered. It's just no one's ever done anything so considerate for me before and I... oh I feel like such a fool!" and with that she ran into the house without seeing the smile playing on Fleur's face. She sighed, surveying the cauldrons in the small room, setting back to work. Hermione's well-being needed to be tended to before her own


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Two updates in the same year? Who am I? Thank you for all of the views, reviews, and alerts over the past week and a half. They encouraged me to continue with this story. I'm still not quite sure how long it is going to be, but I've got a much better idea of where I'm going with this. So please, hang in for the ride because I'm hoping to make it a good one.

Reviews are always greatly appreciated! Nothing motivates me more than feedback, regardless if it's good or bad.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

Hermione avoided Fleur for the rest of the evening, which she considered quite a feat, given that every room was connected in some way or another. She attempted to busy herself with reading _Hogwarts: A History, _but she had the text more or less memorized at this point, and found her thoughts wandering toward unpleasant things one way or another. One moment it was Bellatrix, blade against her skin, hissing things into her ear, and the next it was a feeling of embarrassment when she recalled what happened in the shed earlier that evening.

As if she could have been so stupid! This woman, the only person who made Hermione feel the least bit at ease, was now pushed away from her by her thoughtless actions. She knew there was no way she was going to be able to shuffle into the other woman's room now, and there was no way she could approach either Ron or Harry with this. When they saw her crying, they would look away, quickly finding something to clean or remembering some passage in a book they wanted to re-read.

Bill was never there, which Hermione could not wrap her head around. She could think of no place more beautiful, or safe, to be living than Shell Cottage. She wished she came here under different circumstances, to be fully able to appreciate the calming lull of the waves against the shore and the sun as it deepened into shades of red and purple against the sea and sky.

She decided she would visit Dobby's grave. Putting on a scarf to ward off the evening's breeze, she stepped out of the cottage and made her way over to the garden where he laid. She knelt down and traced the words on his makeshift headstone. Her eyes began to mist over, and it wasn't long before she could stop herself crying. Her thoughts soon raced to the woman who killed Dobby, and before she could calm herself she began hyperventilating, rocking back and forth in front of the grave of her small friend.

"It could have been me," she said, over and over again. "It should have been me." She began to grow increasingly tired. She knew she should not sleep, not out here, and not without her dose of the Dreamless Sleep Draught. But if she could just close her eyes for five minutes, surely that would be fine. Still crying, she laid down in front of Dobby, taking care not to disturb anything on his grave. Her eyelids grew heavy, and as she drifted off, she could hear shouting. She knew it wasn't Bellatrix, so who was it? Her mind grew foggier and she felt herself slipping deeper into sleep...

"'ermione! 'ermione!" someone was shaking her shoulder. "Wake up! You 'aven't 'ad your potion today, you do not want to fall asleep 'ere! And what if you catch a cold?" Hermione blinked several times, her eyes still heavy with the sleep she was no longer fighting. She noticed something in Fleur's hand. Her eyes widened. It couldn't be.

"Fleur, is that... is that a S.P.E.W. badge? Did you take that out of my bag? If so, that is a serious invasion of privacy that I do _not_ appreciate," the older woman looked sheepish, and Hermione's rant dissipated.

"I ah, well you see, at 'ogwarts I was very interested in the liberation of house elves, so I paid the dues and took this badge, and I thought that, per'aps, it would be a nice addition to Dobby's memorial. And that is when I found you 'ere," Fleur bent over, mumbling something in French that Hermione could only assume was a prayer, and placed the badge next to his headstone. Hermione sat in silence, watching, as the older woman stood back up, frowning slightly.

"Why didn't you ever come to the meetings?" Hermione blurted. She looked at the ground, embarrassed by her own outburst.

"I wished to, 'owever, you made it quite plain at the time that my presence was not appreciated, non? In fact, if I approached you, I feared being 'exed into oblivion. But, still, I wanted to show my support," she shrugged, offering her hand to Hermione to help her up.

Without thinking, Hermione offered her the wrist that was still in the process of healing. She cried out in pain and clumsily fell into Fleur, who wrapped her arm around her, causing Hermione's breath to hitch. She closed her eyes and heard the other woman humming slightly, her fingers delicately probing the extent of Hermione's wrist injury. She began tracing over the scar on the inside of her forearm, and Hermione sighed.

"I'm sorry for being such a prat," she mumbled into Fleur's shirt, squeezing her eyes tightly. She was not going to cry again. And she was _certainly_ not going to make a fool of herself again and go around mindlessly kissing the people taking care of her. _Don't cry, don't kiss. Instead, let's try to recall the five principal exceptions to Gamp's law. Exception one is food. This is due to-_

"I do not blame you for it, 'ermione. I know 'ow frustrating it can be to be around someone like myself. I know 'ow frustrating it is for me to _be _like myself. It is a dull life to lead, when everyone around you simply agrees with everything you 'ave to say," she held Hermione closer to herself for a moment before releasing her from the embrace, still holding her hand. "But, come. I did not come out 'ere to tell you of all of my troubles. Let's go inside and get you something to eat. I know you 'aven't 'ad anything since breakfast. I've been watching you," she wiggled her eyebrows, eliciting a laugh from Hermione, who followed her toward the home, light shining out of the windows warmly, inviting her back in.

* * *

Fleur was in the process of chopping some vegetables by magic when Harry and Ron came in. The two boys looked nervous, scuffing their feet on the kitchen floor for several moments before Harry cleared his throat.

"Er, 'mione, we were just wondering... well, it's not that we want to rush you, or anything, because you obviously need to get better and you need to be well for us to keep moving on. What I mean to say is that-"

"What you mean to say that is you want 'er to get better more quickly, non? That she should 'urry up and get over it so you can continue your fight against You-Know-Who, is that right?" Fleur was jabbing a spoon into Harry's chest and she looked absolutely venomous. Hermione was beginning to fear for his safety.

"When you put it like that it sounds kind of harsh, but, yeah," Ron admitted sheepishly. Hermione opened her mouth to reply, about to say that she would be fine to leave in the morning when Fleur spoke again.

"No," she looked both of the boys in the eye, spoon still in hand. "She is not well and would be more of a 'inderance than a 'elp if you were to leave now."

"But Voldemort is KILLING people, Fleur, I don't think you understand!" Harry's fist pounded the table and Hermione shouted in surprise. She moved to leave the room. She couldn't stand shouting. It brought her back immediately to the countless hours spent in Bellatrix's grasp, the wailing and shrieking of those others held captive by the Death Eaters. As she walked into the living room, she could still hear the conversation.

"I do understand, 'arry. I also understand that if you were to bring 'er with you now, she would not be able to 'elp you in ways she 'as past. It is clear you need 'er assistance. So, I suggest that rather than get yourself killed by forcing your friend into battle when she is clearly under a great amount of stress and pain, which will ultimately get all of you killed, you sit, and wait. Voldemort will not be defeated without you, 'arry, but you will not be able to defeat 'im without 'er. Now please, if you would excuse me, I am preparing a meal and quite busy."

In the next room, Hermione couldn't stop smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: These chapters keep getting longer and longer, which, quite frankly, I'm grateful for. I'm not a big fan of stories with short chapters myself, but I can never seem to get mine to the right length... practice makes perfect, I guess.

I apologize for the delay in update. I mean, it's much quicker than my typical chapter a year, but now that the semester is over, you folks can expect some semblance of regularity.

But I'm not making any promises.

Please review to your heart's content. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Flames will be entirely disregarded because if you found your way into this pairing you knew damn well what you were getting yourself into.

When Hermione headed to the guest room for the evening, she was met by a smirking Fleur Delacour blocking her entrance.

"Do not think you can get away from me so easily, 'ermione. Do you really think you will be sleeping by yourself so soon? I cannot allow it," Hermione moved to open the door, and suddenly Fleur's hand was on top of hers, stopping her from turning the doorknob. It startled her. Surely that was the reason for the involuntary hitch in her breath, the feeling of warmth quickly spreading through her body, a wave of comfort quickly washing over her.

"I just," Hermione sighed. "I'm still embarrassed. About earlier. I feel so stupid about the whole thing!" Fleur's grip on her hand shook slightly.

"'ermione, surely you are not embarrassed about kissing a French woman? I'm sure you 'ave 'eard the rumors about 'ow easily we give out our affection? We kiss those who we 'ave never even met before!" Hermione looked away shyly, and Fleur placed her hand under her chin, directing her gaze back toward her. "Please, do not be embarrassed. If anyone should be, it is me, for my lacking potions skills. Per'aps tomorrow you can assist me without any more... incidents?" Fleur made her way toward her room, Hermione's hand still in hers.

"Or per'aps, if I am lucky, maybe there will be," she waggled her eyebrows and Hermione groaned in frustration.

Hermione was thankful for her peace in the bath. Images of Bellatrix still flashed through her mind, she was more preoccupied with other thoughts. To say she was terribly confused would be an understatement. She huffed, sinking lower into the warm water. For her, there was always a wrong and right. On few occasions, she toed her way into a grey area, such as making Polyjuice potion, but the ends all justified the means.

What Bellatrix had done had no ends. She was a sick woman who had just tortured Hermione for her own amusement, to satiate boredom. To Hermione, that was the most stomach-churning facet of the whole of the entire encounter. Bellatrix caused pain for fun. Out of enjoyment. She lived to see people writhe and contort in pain under her power. She shuddered at the thought. Suddenly, it was if she could feel all of the scars on her body, fully aware of the physical damage this woman had caused her. She was becoming overwhelmed, feelings of dread creeping around her like tendrils of smoke, threatening to take her in again...

And then she thought of the moment Fleur's hand was on hers. It was almost as troubling to her that this brought her peace. It could easily be that Fleur treated her so kindly, that she showed concern that had yet to be offered from either of the boys. And that led her to Ron. She'd been so upset when he'd left her and Harry all that time ago, and to what end? For him to begin shouting at her in the kitchen as if she were responsible for all of the wizarding world? Did he not realize what she had just gone through?

Fleur defended her. She barely knew her, and yet she was the one to stand up to her friends, people she'd known for years, who she'd assumed would be understanding and caring. Instead, this came from an almost stranger. A stranger who was wandering into her thoughts with alarming frequency. Once again she sank deeper, her nose barely above the water, feeling it grow more tepid as her fingers pruned and she mulled over her thoughts.

Hermione crept into the bedroom, trepidation still apparent in her footsteps. Fleur looked up from the tome she was scouring, her glasses perched low on her nose. She smiled, patting the other side of the bed, and resumed her reading. Hermione, inhaling deeply and steeling herself in a way akin to her preparation for the sorting hat, moved to the bed and pulled back the duvet, falling into the pillows as quietly as possible.

"I didn't know you wore glasses, Fleur," Hermione remarked. Anything to keep the conversation light. She barely glanced over at the girl, but instead focused on the yellowing bruises around her wrist, which she immediately realized was an entirely terrible idea. Before she even felt the sting in her eyes, Fleur's response came, distracting her entirely.

"Yes, I 'ave not been as fortunate as you, 'ermione. Though, some may be surprised, I 'ad my nose stuck in many a book in the past, and my vision 'as suffered terribly for it. Normally, I use a spell to keep my vision sharp but, I don't know, there is something just relaxing about sliding on my reading glasses in the evening with a good book. It's a ritual of sorts," Hermione heard her sigh. "You were not expecting such a rambling response, I am sure. Shall I go over my findings in the reading this evening? I believe I 'ave come to, 'ow you say, a breakthrough. There are some notes in the margins, as you can see, and I would like your opinion. You are, after all, the brightest witch of the age," Hermione looked up to see a playful smile across Fleur's face, the proffered book between them. She muttered a few words of thanks and pored over the page, carefully examining the diagrams and Fleur's loopy scrawl interjecting.

She noticed that Fleur crossed out several sections, providing her own translation. _Well, _she mused, _she clearly is very proficient in Ancient Runes. I would have never noticed these discrepancies myself. _She continued reading, using her finger to guide her down the instructions. Puzzled, she bit her lip for a moment.

"Fleur, here you have something scratched out so that I can't barely see it, and I think that's... caretaker, written above it?" She tilted the book toward Fleur in the dim light, and the other woman drew nearer, her light perfume of sandalwood like a warm glow around her. Hermione studied her, the gentle slope of her neck, how her lips were parted slightly as she muttered the words she was reading without sound, a slight furrow in her brow.

"Ah, yes," the exclamation startled Hermione out of her stupor. "The ingredients originally called for something quite strange and subjective; I believed this to be more accurate and, well, easily attainable. After all, I bleed quite easily, so I am naturally quite 'andy with spells to close wounds as well-" Hermione was looking at her in horror. Fleur, on the other hand, seemed almost amused. "Ma chère, surely you saw 'ere, the potion calls for some... messier additions, non? A few drops is a small price to pay for your sanity," Hermione moved her head toward the girl, who was smiling at Hermione warmly. Hermione sighed once again and threw her head back on the pillow.

"I just- I don't get it!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "You're... you're supposed to be... a... you've always acted like-"

"A bitch?" Fleur offered.

"Yes, exactly! Why are you being so nice? I do not remember ever doing _anything_ toward you to deserve this treatment! I was nasty to you! If I were you, I would've thrown me out the first chance I got! And now- now you're going to spill your blood for me, all so I can get a decent night's sleep? There's no reason for it! I just- I don't get it, Fleur!" She stared at the wall, slightly embarrassed by her outburst, all the while terrified of Fleur's reaction. She was very surprised to feel her slender hand resting on her arm, her thumb moving soothingly in slow circles across her skin.

"'ermione," she started softly, her voice low. "I cannot imagine 'ow 'ard it must be for you to trust someone, in a time like this, after what 'appened to you, but I can assure you this. 'elping you is what I _want _to do. It is not out of obligation, it is not because you are 'elping- though it seems more like leading- 'arry and Ron, and I am not try to make sure you are indebted to me for all eternity. Trust me. The last time I acted purely out of self-interest, I-" she stopped herself, shaking her head slightly and chewing on her lip. "Never mind that now. I want you 'ealthy, and You-know-'oo dead. This seems to be the easiest way to go about it," she removed her hand from Hermione's arm to throw it up in the air. "And off I go, rambling again! You do 'ave permission to shush me, you know," she smiled, setting the book on the nightstand beside her. "We 'ave a long day tomorrow. Per'aps some rest would be good, non?" Hermione nodded meekly as Fleur waved the lights off with her wand.

As Hermione settled further into the bed, she turned herself toward Fleur one last time. "Fleur?" she heard the girl roll toward her, humming in reply. "I... thank you for everything. For helping me, and telling off Harry and Ron, and... everything," Fleur rose out of the bed, brushing her lips against Hermione's temple.

"Of course," she whispered into her ear, and then settled once again into the bed.


End file.
